


Council of Elrond in the style of Hiawatha, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Enhances original, Characters - New interpretation, Humor, War of the Ring, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Good use of humor, and I don't just mean from the people reading it., mild swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3762543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Find out what would have happened if Tolkien had collaborated with Longfellow. <br/>Warning: mild swearing, and I don't just mean from the people reading it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Council of Elrond in the style of Hiawatha, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Elrond sat and looked about him  
At the Council chamber filling,  
Filling with the many peoples  
Gathered from the farthest corners  
Of fair Middle Earth in swiftness.  
Seated on his right was Gandalf.  
On his left was brave Glorfindel,  
Valiant Elf, so oft forgotten,  
Golden haired and fair of feature,  
He whose destiny is never  
To be in a film appearing.  
Dwarves there were in chain mail mighty,  
Axes waiting at the ready,  
Pesky elves to smite and bludgeon  
At the slightest provocation.  
Gimli, noble son of Gloin,  
Gloin of the Lonely Mountain,  
Stared with mistrust round the table  
At the many Elf-folk gathered.  
Thus spake Gloin to his bold son  
Wisdom gathered from his travels:  
“Just remember what I told you –  
Never trust a wood-elf further  
Than, dear Gimli, you can throw him!”  
Elrond, hearing Gloin’s council,  
Thought unto himself in sorrow,  
“Should have seated vengeful Gloin  
Further from the Elf from Mirkwood,  
Pretty, blond-haired Elf from Mirkwood.”  
Turning then Lord Elrond’s vision  
Fell upon a man from Gondor,  
Boromir from Minas Tirith,  
Clad in garments stained from travel,  
With a great horn, tipped with silver,  
Staring boldly at the hobbits.  
“He,” thought Elrond, “looks like trouble!”  
Bilbo Baggins and young Frodo  
Sat on cushions piled aplenty,  
Cushions high to lift their faces  
Up above the oaken table,  
Otherwise the little halflings  
Would be speaking Council matters  
With the other people’s kneecaps.  
Finally the Elf Lord’s stern gaze  
Took in Strider, doughty ranger,  
He whose sword, alas, is broken,  
He whose face is grim and careworn,  
Weather-beaten but determined.  
Thought then Elrond of his daughter,  
Lovely Arwen, elven beauty,  
And his face did turn to thunder  
At the prospect, nearer looming,  
Of a son-in-law so scruffy.  
“Right, let’s get this meeting started.  
Can we have a bit of hush now?  
Much to talk of and consider.  
Who will make a fair beginning?  
Who will get the ball a-rolling?”  
Gloin then, with voice of wonder,  
Told them all of dwarvish troubles,  
Troubles with the Dark Lord, Sauron,  
He who seeks the Ring of Power,  
Domination to accomplish.  
Elrond too expounded swiftly  
On the history of the One Ring,  
For he was the Elven herald  
In the noble Last Alliance.  
Kings Elendil and Gil-galad  
Knew he well and lauded greatly.  
At his words young Frodo Baggins  
Wondered at the Elf Lord’s birth date,  
Wondered how Elrond Half-Elven  
Kept his skin so youthful looking.  
When the hobbit’s scant attention  
Back to Council matters tended,  
Boromir was speaking loudly  
Of a dream and dodgy poem  
That to Imladris had sent him.  
Then did Aragorn the Unwashed  
Stand up to the man of Gondor  
And reveal the shards of Narsil  
And his heritage so royal.  
Boromir with brows a-furrowed  
Thought unto himself in anger,  
“If this ranger gets to Gondor,  
Dad will soon be made redundant.”  
At the ranger’s words smiled Frodo  
And with much relief he spake thus:  
“Aragorn should have the One Ring!  
Aragorn, please take it from me,  
For my heart is weary with it.”  
“Nay!” spake Strider. “Frodo Baggins  
Shall not pass the buck so lightly.”  
“Drat!” thought Frodo. “Worth a try though.”  
Then said Gandalf, “Get the Ring out!  
Let us see this evil trinket  
That hath wrought such death and chaos.”  
Frodo stood with palm outstretching  
And the golden Ring was gleaming,  
Gleaming brightly in the sunlight.  
But saw Frodo – dreading, fearing –  
Boromir’s grey eyes gleamed brighter.  
Bilbo, next, Lord Elrond called on  
To explain how unto hobbits  
Came the Dark Lord’s evil weapon.  
“And,” insisted Elrond firmly,  
“Can we have the truth please this time?”  
Bilbo blushed and started talking,  
Telling all the strange adventures  
He had had upon the journey  
With the dwarves to steal the treasure.  
And he talked with words aplenty.  
On and on the hobbit rambled.  
Elrond tried to interrupt him,  
“Thank you, Bilbo. That’s enough now!  
Let me get a word in edgeways!  
Please allow your plucky nephew  
To the curious tale continue.”  
Frodo’s voice took up the story  
Of the journey he had taken  
From the Shire to Elrond’s dwelling.  
He included every detail  
Save for all the time they wasted  
Meeting Bombadil the Hippy,  
“For,” he thought, “it’s fearful drivel.  
No one sane would want to hear it.”  
When he’d finished, trusty Gandalf,  
Gandalf of the Beard Unending,  
Gave the Council proofs in number  
That the ring in Frodo’s keeping  
Was the One Ring of the Dark Lord.  
Words he spoke then, in the Black Tongue,  
Showing off his knowledge mighty.  
But the Elves with fearful trembling,  
Grimaced as in pain relentless  
For his accent was atrocious.  
Boromir then posed a question:  
“What became of wretched Gollum?”  
“Worry not!” said Strider boldly.  
“Gollum now is held a prisoner  
By the Elves of northern Mirkwood,  
King Thranduil’s watchful wood-elves.  
On them are our hopes depending.  
“Whoops!” cried Legolas, embarrassed,  
And his face was blushing hotly.  
“Time has come for my confession.  
Smeagol, who is now called Gollum,  
Truth be told, has done a runner!”  
“Sodding wood-elves!” muttered Gloin.  
“Couldn’t organise a piss-up  
In a brewery! Bloody useless!”  
“Well he’s gone now,” said old Gandalf.  
“Let’s continue with our Council.  
Come now, Gloin, put your axe down!”  
Then spake Gandalf of misfortune  
He’d encountered with his leader,  
Saruman the White, of Orthanc,  
Saruman, most wise in ring-lore,  
Saruman, the spineless traitor.  
He had tried to tempt poor Gandalf:  
“Let us wield the Ring together!”  
But Mithrandir had seen through him.  
“Pull the other one,” said Gandalf,  
Laughing loudly. “It hath bells on!  
Rings are meant to fit one finger  
And, in truth, I do not trust you,  
Saruman, to share it nicely!”  
“Right!” said Saruman, quite miffed now,  
“You shall be my guest forever.  
Up on top of lofty Orthanc  
You shall sit through wind and weather,  
’Til your rheumatism’s murder!”  
Gandalf then described his rescue  
By the Lord of all the Eagles.  
“Swift and sure but rather draughty  
Was the ride I took with Gwaihir,  
But through many gruelling travels,  
Rivendell I reached by tea-time.”  
“Well, the tale is told,” said Elrond,  
“But the question still remaining  
Is the fate of Frodo’s jewellery.  
What to do, now, with the One Ring?  
Shall we make our great pronouncement?  
Shall we come to our conclusion?”  
“Chuck it in the sea!” Glorfindel  
Shouted boldly, bored and hungry.  
“Good decision! Let’s have dinner!”  
Bilbo added, nodding keenly.  
“No!” said Gandalf, frowning sternly,  
“Such an act would not be clever,  
For the Ring would not stay hidden;  
At a future date some dolphin  
Would be tyrant o’er our nations.”  
Boromir, his fingers twitching,  
Raised his voice in angry protest.  
“As a fighting man of Gondor,  
I think we should use this weapon.  
Take it and go forth to victory!”  
“Cloth ears! Have you not been listening?  
Shouted Elrond in frustration.  
“No one here can wield the One Ring  
Without going power crazy.  
Don’t you see, we must destroy it?”  
“So be it,” the man of Gondor  
Muttered grimly, knuckles whitening.  
Glancing sideways, added slyly,  
“Maybe Ranger-Boy could help us,  
If his knackered sword was mended.”  
“Who can tell?” said Strider archly,  
“One day may my sword be tested  
’Gainst the forces of the Dark Lord.”  
Boromir just raised an eyebrow.  
“I’ll not hold my breath, then, Strider!”  
Seeing lunch was overdue now,  
Elrond tried to urge the Council  
Once again to break the One Ring.  
“Listen folks, I must insist now,  
Someone’s got to take this damn thing  
Back to Mordor and destroy it!  
Cast it in the fiery mountain!  
Volunteers are what is needed.  
Silence reigned o’er Council chamber.  
Minutes ticked by, passing slowly.  
Shadows lengthened. No one answered.  
All were staring hard at Frodo.  
At length Gandalf took a parchment  
And a quill pen, writing swiftly.  
Passed the letter on to Frodo,  
Whispered, “Read this out, you numbskull!”  
So, naively, read young Frodo,  
“I will take the Ring to Mordor!”  
“Great!” cried Elrond. “That’s decided!”  
Rising quickly moved the Elf-Lord  
To the buffet on the sideboard.  
“Glad I am to have it sorted!”  
Elrond said his plate well loaded.  
But a hobbit’s voice cried loudly,  
“You can’t send him off alone, Sir!”  
“No indeed!” said Elrond turning.  
“You at least, Sam, shall go with him!”  
Samwise blurted, shocked and fearful,  
“I meant Aragorn should go too!”  
But Lord Elrond was not listening.  
Busy was he, scoffing lembas  
By the truckload, chomping cheerfully.  
Everyone was tucking in now,  
Save the hobbits, Sam and Frodo,  
Sitting quietly, sad and thoughtful.  
Sighing, Samwise turned to Frodo,  
Speaking of their situation:  
“Mister Frodo, what a pickle!”  
Frodo nodded to his gardener,  
You are right, my faithful Samwise,  
To be sure our future’s dismal.  
Thanks to Gandalf and Lord Elrond,  
We’ve been stitched up like a kipper!”  
~*~*~*~*~


End file.
